On Thursday, March 31, I was standing in the scene shop behind Smith Hall when I heard the sirens go off. At first, I just assumed it was another day in Troy, but the sirens wailed on for minutes. When I peered down the street to Hawkins Hall, I saw the lights. On the other side of me, ambulances and cop cars lined University Avenue. Then it hit me.
On March 26, four people were killed when a Haynes Life Flight helicopter crashed in Coffee County, Ala. Three first responders, one patient. These sirens belonged to the mourning brothers and sisters of the first responder community, and to the memorial service for the men and woman who died in the tragedy. Instantly, my heart hurt. I suddenly was among those mourning, even if my body wasn't present at the memorial service.
I grew up surrounded by first responders. My father, who has spent his life dedicated to the community around him, is not only a firefighter but also a policeman. My mother worked with paramedics and EMS workers. Both of my parents were, and still are members of our local volunteer fire department. The members of the Ridgely Volunteer Fire Department are essentially my extended family. Together, we have all gone through both the good and bad times.
Through the years, I have seen what death does to the people around me, specifically my first responder family. The black gets draped on the exterior of the firehouse much too often, but when it does, I know how much closer everyone becomes. Honoring the deceased is something the first responder community has down to a tee. I supposed that when those you love put their lives on the line every day for the public good, sharing their memory is even more important.
When 9/11 happened, Dad traveled to the site of the ruins of the Twin Towers to attend the funeral of Durrell V. Pearsall Jr., one of the 343 who were honored after giving their lives to save those involved in the horror of that day. My junior year, Dad also traveled to Boston to honor two firemen who died in a fire. Thousands of men from around the country came to stand in the streets of each city to honor the men and women who died in service.
This kind of first responder bond isn't just specific to the Fire Department. In 10th grade, when my grandfather passed away, several of my father's police friends came to support him during the funeral. The same happened this past summer when my grandmother passed away. I can only imagine how the community must be when one of their own passes. Shouldn't we, as a community, be right next to them when they are weak and hurt by the sting of death?
Nowadays, it seems like the lives of our first responders isn't important. They are just people who are there when it's convenient. Every day the public is kept safe and sound because of the sacrifices of those people. Sure, there are a few who make the profession look bad. However, the majority of those men and women have golden hearts.
I wouldn't be the same person if I didn't have those first responders in my life. The ideas of dedication, perseverance, and selflessness wouldn't be quite as ingrained in my being if it weren't for them. Regardless of where I am, I know I can turn to these men and women to help me out. It is important to thank these people every day for their service, for devoting themselves to their community and their brothers and sisters.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am mourning alongside you today. Rest in Peace to the fallen.
